Monopoly
by amenti3
Summary: Slight progression of whatever relationship Ava and Boyd may have.
1. Chapter 1

Justified ain't mine.

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It started with talks on the porch. Nothing special. She would talk about her day and he'd tell her about his. Some days they'd talk about other stuff. She remembered this one time they spent over an hour talking about their favorite board games. They both liked Monopoly. They both cheated at Monopoly. She had laughed challenged him to a Monopoly game. The next day, when she came home from work, there was a brand new Monopoly set on the table.

They spent six hours playing on Saturday. She hadn't laughed so much in what seemed like months. He kept robbing the bank. She knew it shouldn't have been funny, given the situation they had been in, but it was funny. At first, he tried to hide it. But after all these years, she knew by now not to trust Boyd near large amounts money, fake or otherwise. And after she caught on, he'd just blatantly take the money, and then _lie_. Straight to her face. Without batting an eye. But he would smirk just slightly. And she'd mock outrage and take the money back, but next turn, he had it again.

He won. Shouldn't have been a surprise. She pouted a bit, but he smiled and said that maybe next week they could play Clue. There had smiled at each other for a bit. And then it was kind of awkward. Because all of a sudden she remembered 'creepy Boyd'. The one that would leer at her. The one that would go out of his way to invade her personal space during any gatherings. The one that sometimes let his hands linger where they shouldn't. The one that made her cringe. The one that held her hostage. The one that was going to shot her. The one she almost shot. That Boyd.

And then she thought of the Boyd sitting across from her. The one that was _nice. _The one that trusted her with so much. Maybe too much. The one that told her stories about his day, about his childhood, about his favorite songs. The one that protected her. The one that was chivalrous. The one that played Monopoly with her for six hours and made her laugh. The one that was looking at her. Looking at her in a way that made her stomach curl in a way that it hadn't since Raylan had showed up at her door those months ago.

She realized at that moment she'd have to pick one. Either she could guard herself and her interactions with him by reminding herself of that old Boyd that she knew for so many years. Or she could believe that people changed. That Boyd changed. That this new version would stick around. That he wouldn't hurt her. Not in the way Bowman had, not in the way Raylan had.

She made her mind almost too instantaneously for a decision like this. She picked a tentative new friendship, with the possibility of something more. And she prayed to whatever God there was, that this time, this one time, she not get burned.

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	2. Chapter 2

Justified ain't mine.

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Boyd didn't know how it happened, but he found that his feelings for Ava were changing to something else. It confused the hell outta him. He'd been after her for as long as he could remember, but it wasn't the polite sort of 'after'. Nowadays he'd think about his behavior towards her, and laugh at the irony. If anyone dared to pull even half the shit that he had pulled with her while she was married to Bowman, they'd be six feet under no questions asked.

But things had changed lately and he wasn't quite sure how. She looked at him different. She didn't think he had noticed, but he had. When he first moved in she'd looked at him, it had been the same as always. Wariness with a mix of slight disgust, and a shit load of suspicion. But since their porch dates, after the mining robbery gone bad, it had been different. She'd smile at him more often. Real genuine smiles. She'd laugh too, from time to time. She'd began to look at him, with something akin to fondness.

Their porch dates (for lack of a better word) had been infrequent to say the least. Maybe once a week, days when she was bored or lonely or just really needed to talk to a human, regardless of whom. They went from once a week maybe twice a week, to nearly daily. And then they went talking once a day, to something quite different. The days he didn't have night shift, they'd wake up (separately of course) eat breakfast together in sometimes a companionable silence, and others days a steady stream of nonsensical chatter.

She'd call him sometimes during the day. At first she'd find some excuses, say she was at the grocery store and ask if he wanted anything, call him up to know he had some bill come in the mail, or to let him know that she'd be late, things of that nature. After a while, she stopped making up excuses. She'd call him up when she knew he had a break, and they'd just talk.

And then dinner. They'd sit and have dinner, and do the chores together. And then afterwards, he'd pour them some drinks and they'd sit out on the porch for hours.

She'd rarely look at him like he was the old Boyd anymore, but the few times he caught her looking at him like he was something that crawled out her gutter. Those times made him feel like someone sucker punched him right in the gut. He knew he deserved it, after everything he had put her through, but it didn't mean it hurt any less.

He remembered Monopoly night though. He felt like something shifted Monopoly night. Maybe something for the better. He remembered sitting there, watching her laugh and thinking that maybe this was what life was about. Finding someone that you liked being with. Finding someone you didn't mind sharing yourself with. All the good with all the bad. Finding that one person that made you feel better just by being there. Finding that someone that you trusted. Finding that person you _loved_.

He remembered thinking this, and looking at her face, and watching her change. And at the moment, he saw what she saw. He saw himself. The way he was. And he thought that maybe, it didn't matter what he thought, didn't matter if he loved her or not, because to her, there'd be a part of her that would always remember that Boyd. Maybe, this friendship was the most that he would ever get. But then she smiled at him again. It seemed different this time around. All he knew was after Monoply night, he never really saw her looking at him as the old Boyd again. Progress right?

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	3. Chapter 3

Justified ain't mine.

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They went out of their way to avoid any sort of physical contact. It was a subconscious effort at first. He knew to avoid her personal space, almost as an instinct. And she did the same.

But as they grew to be friends, companions, or whatever one could call their burgeoning relationship, touches became an elephant in the room. What had been politeness in respecting individual space became an exercise in torture. Ava was affectionate by nature. She hugged and caressed and generally liked being _close _to people. But she felt like adding physical contact, no matter how innocent, would be adding fuel to a fire that she already had little control over. She wondered how he would react. She doubted he would push her away. He wanted her. Always had. He wasn't the concern anymore. She was. She couldn't touch him.

But she wanted to. It began to scare her how much she wanted to touch him. She supposed it was the allure of wanting what you shouldn't have. She'd come home sometimes and see Boyd hunched over the table reading a book, and she'd get this mad impulse to throw her arms around him and read over his shoulder. But she couldn't. She wouldn't. So she would stand there. Behind him. Clench her fists. Count to ten. Then leave the room.

Other times, they days they would sit out on the porch, all she could think about was how comfortable she'd be if she curled up next to him on the bench. Nothing sexual. Just, she was cold. And he seemed like he would be warm. And he smelled nice. She noticed that lately. Even after hours in the mine, she could still smell a bit of his aftershave. She'd get so distracted, she'd lose track of the conversation.

Immersion therapy. They had been talking about something, she forgot about what. He brought it up. How every day, if you approached something you were scared of, theoretically, the fear should go away. She decided to try it.

It was a few days later, when she found herself in the situation she'd been in many times before. Boyd sitting in the kitchen, lights dimmed low, hunched over another one of his big books. She noticed there was an extra cup of coffee next to him. She smiled. She liked when he made her coffee. She waited a few seconds and right on schedule the mad impulse made its appearance. She took a deep breath. Counted to ten. Took a few steps forward and rested her arms over the back of his chair. Leaned forward to look over his shoulder. She wasn't touching him. But she was close. Close enough to feel his heat. Close enough to feel him go absolutely still. Close enough to hear him breath. Close enough to have her stomach churn and her cheeks turn red. She asked him what he was reading. He told her. She asked if the coffee was for her. He told her it was. She smiled and went to her chair.

It wasn't so bad. It was also very bad. She liked being near him. But really, she liked being near everyone. It didn't mean anything. It just meant that she was growing to accept him. Accept him as a friend. Nothing more. Nothing less. She would have to continue practicing this immersion therapy thing though. It didn't do her any good being scared of her own roommate.

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	4. Chapter 4

Justifed ain't mine.

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Boyd learned to be still. Very, very still. They were like sneak attacks. Moments where seemingly out of nowhere she would be _close_ to him. Very, very _close_. Sometimes she wouldn't touch him, other times her arms would wrap themselves around his torso, or his shoulders and he would just stay still. Inhale. Exhale. After a few seconds, she'd let go, and things would go on as normal.

These moments became both the best and worst part of his days. For a few seconds, he could close his eyes and pretend this wasn't a fleeting moment. Then she would move away, and he'd be reminded that she wasn't his. Yet. He wondered how she would react… if one of those days that she decided to sit next to him on the porch, he pulled her in closer. If the days she decided to read over his shoulder, he held onto her arms. If he leaned back into her hug on the days she decided to reward him for doing the dishes.

He wondered what she would do if he initiated the contact. He hadn't touched her. He wouldn't dare. He wouldn't take the liberties. He couldn't help but think, thought that maybe it wouldn't be so wholly unwelcome. If he was so atrocious, if she hadn't forgiven him, she wouldn't be near him in the first place. Next time, he decided. Next time she came near him, he'd respond. He wasn't made of stone. And he knew her well enough to know that she was aware of what she was doing. If she wanted to play with fire, that was her choice.

It was one of their porch dates. The day had been a hot one. It had been busy as well. By the time Ava had woken up, Boyd was already gone. The salon was packed full of customers, girls getting ready for Prom, and Boyd had one of those days at the mine. By the time he had gotten home, Ava had already eaten, and by the sounds of it was taking a bath. When she came down, Boyd had eaten his food and was apparently in the shower. All in all, it was one of the rare days where they hadn't spoken an entire word to each other all day.

She was out on the porch. He figured she would be. She was on the steps. Her cigarette was dangling from her fingers. Her hair was wet, and her arms were covered in goose bumps. Not surprising, considering the cool wind, the wet hair, and the tank top. He watched her. Her shirt clung to her. It was scrunched up on the bottom. The small of her back was showing.

He stepped out on the porch. The door creaked open but she didn't turn around. He took his seat at the porch. They didn't talk. After a few minutes of silence, she put out her cigarette. She stood up and stretched and moved to what seemed to be her new favorite spot. Right next to Boyd. Same as always. No touching. Just enticingly close. She wanted to play with fire.

He put his arm around her. She froze. He froze. Fire. They were playing with fire. She closed her eyes, and leaned into him. She tucked her head into chest. His hands slipped to her waist. They sat still. Only his hands drawing circles on her bare skin. They sat very still… letting their senses indulge. She let herself be engulfed by him. His arms around her. His smell overwhelming her. He wondered what sort of torture this was. Wondered why she was allowing it. Wondered how he was going to stop.

They sat for what seemed like seconds. For what seemed like hours. One hand was intertwined with hers. The other still on her waist. She began talking to him. Mumbling through his chest. Things about her day. Boyd smiled. If this was going to be the new normal, he didn't mind.

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	5. Chapter 5

Justified ain't mine.

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It was bound to happen. She was surprised it hadn't happened sooner. They were constantly together. Constantly close to each other. They were in a pressure cooker. Steam had to be released, otherwise they would explode. Well, they ignored the whistling and now all that was left was to deal with the aftermath of the explosion.

She didn't even know how it started. She'd been a little cranky. It had been a shit day at the salon, and she was looking forward to laying on the couch with Boyd. But she'd come home, seen Raylan on the porch with Boyd, and Winonna in his car. Winonna had looked lovely. Clearly, Raylan was taking her out somewhere.

And there she was. Dressed in whatever rags she'd put on in the morning, her hair a mess, and her make-up non-existent. Boyd had the look about him that said he was playin nice, but he wasn't feelin nice. He asked her to go inside, and he'd come inside in a bit. Raylan had gave her a terse nod. Her temper was like a fuse gone short. How dare they sit around on _her_ porch and then have the nerve to order her around like she was too dumb to know what was going on. She had a right to know what the hell was going on and she told them just that.

By this time Winonna had gotten out of the car, and if it was possible, Ava's mood soured. Of course he would have picked Winonna. Look at her. Raylan gave one of his long suffering sighs, and told Boyd he'd keep in touch. Tipped his hat towards Ava, then walked towards Winonna. She clearly asked him what this was about, and judging by the the length of time they stood at the car, he had told her. He had told Winonna. Yet she was not deemed intelligent enough to be in the loop. She felt tears of anger, humiliation and pride prickle at the corner of her eyes. She brushed them away, and took a few seconds to compose herself. She could tell Boyd was watching her. Boyd would tell her. Boyd trusted her. Boyd always let her know what was going on.

But apparently that was not the case. Because as Raylan drove away, Boyd let it be known in the voice he used for people he did not like, that although he appreciated her letting him into her home, he would like to remind her that he is indeed paying, and paying well, for that privilege. Therefore, should he decide to hold conversations on the porch, or in any part of the house that is not her bedroom, he is well within is right as a tenant to be afforded that privacy.

There is only one expression that is applicable for what happened next. It is along the lines of "and then hell broke loose". They knew each other too well. The problem with soul baring and deep friendships in general is that the other person is afforded the privilege of knowledge. And with great knowledge comes great power. And sometimes the power isn't always used for the best . They knew the buttons. They knew which buttons would inflict the worst damage and they abused them mercilessly.

It lasted for what seemed like hours. Every little thing had been drudged up, from Boyd not being able to put the dishes away right and Ava's leaving hair in the drain, to Ava's clear lingering feelings for Raylan, and Boyd's jealousy. She had screamed and shouted and thrown things, and Boyd would respond quietly, his words sharp, cutting and bitter.

After it had all blown over, Boyd would wonder what idiot thought of the the phrase "sticks and stones...etc etc". Words, and words alone were the deadliest weapon. Well words, and a gun. Ava would later recall, the whole time she was screaming and shouting and throwing, she never for a second thought Boyd would hurt her. At least phsyically. She couldn't play emotional victim too much, because she was pretty sure she hurt gave as good as she got on the verbal attacks.

She had stormed off to her room, found her bottle of whiskey for emergencies, and poured herself one hell of a drink. He took his keys and headed out to the nearest bar. The thing with Ava was that she calmed down as quick as she got fired up. So about an hour or two later, after she was all cried out, she began to miss him. She was still mad. Still absolutely furious. But she also missed him. She'd be mad at him in the morning.

He was clearly still gone, but she decided she'd wait for him out on the porch. The porch was nice. Non-dangerous territory. So she took her bottle of whiskey, a jacket and some crackers and went to wait outside.

It was about another hour before he got home. Ava was already half asleep, her bottle close to empty. She heard the rumbling of the truck, before the headlights woke her up fully. He didn't notice her till he got out of the car. His stomach flip flopped. For what seemed like the thousandth time, he wondered if this is what love felt like. She didn't say anything, but she didn't have to. He took his seat by her and instead of waiting for her to make the move, he pulled her in close.

For the first time that day, Ava felt something akin to serenity. As she drifted off to sleep in his arms, she wondered , is _this_ what love is suppose to feel like?

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	6. Chapter 6

Justified ain't mine.

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It had been a few days since the fight and things had been shaky. Boyd wasn't sure he'd quite recovered. To be honest, he still wasn't sure quite what happened to start it in the first place. It had been a bad day, made worse by Raylan poking around where he shouldn't have been. And then Ava had come home. And she was looking at Raylan like a wounded puppy and he wanted to shoot something. Thoughts and emotions rushing at him so fast that he didn't have time to process one before he was attacked by another. Why wasn't he enough? He'd given her everything he could offer, but apparently Raylan and his god damn cowboy hat had him beat in a way he couldn't understand. And Raylan? What sort of idiot was he? How could he be on the receiving end of Ava's look, yet still be able to walk away? Walk away to another woman, not even look back at the heartbreak etched on her face. And he was expected to clean up? She expected him to clean up? Like hell, he would play second fiddle to Raylan Givens.

He lashed out. Maybe he shouldn't have. But hell, he was human. And it _hurt _knowing that he wasn't enough. Probably would never be good enough. No matter what he did, he wouldn't measure up to Raylan Givens. So they fought.

And then they tentatively made up. She fell asleep in his arms, and woke up in her bed. He ha carried her there. But they had not recovered. They tip toed around each other. They used quiet words, made polite conversation. Talked about neutral subjects. What to eat for dinner. The weather. They had to resort to the weather.

But the touches were still there. The touches that made the awkwardness bearable. They had managed to find any excuse to sit together, so be near each other, to brush against each other. It seemed ridiculous to both of them, but these moments of intimacy became almost an obsession. Ava was no longer the only one initiated contact either.

Ava found it ironic. Back in the day, having Boyd near her made her cringe, made her flinch. But now, she craved his touch. Now, when she felt his hands on her, every nerve tingled. There was a rule of sorts. Exposed skin was fair game. She'd started wearing shorter shirts, tank tops, shorts, dresses.

What had started out as innocent caresses and turned into something quite different. They were no longer approaching each other for comfort, but for something more carnal. And with them still on shaky ground, it seemed dangerous. Their physical relationship was moving at a pace that was not on par with the emotional one.

She wanted him. Boyd Crowder. She could admit it to herself now. What she couldn't do was clear out her head. It wasn't like before, where she was accepting him as a friend , as a confidante. This was accepting him as something more. This was imagining what he'd be like in bed, on the bed she had shared for years with his brother. Whom she shot. This was imagining what'd it be like to wake up in the morning next to him, this man whom she had spent years despising. This was imagining a future with Boyd Crowder, that she had previously imagined with Raylan, her knight in shining armor, the future that she imagined with Bowman, every time he came back promising he'd changed.

But they couldn't be that. Not now. Sure, the lust was there. And yes, she would have little to no problem, acting upon that lust. He wouldn't push her away. He was many things, but stupid was not one of them. If she offered herself, he would take her. But she wanted more. She was pretty sure he did as well. Which made this harder. They had to fix this. Whatever this was. It had to go back to how it was before. No tiptoe-ing. Like hell would she subject herself to another mundane conversation bout that rain they were having. And then once it was fixed. Then they could go forward from there. But they have to fix it. She just wasn't sure how.

Boyd wanted her. He stopped trying to pretend that he didn't. The difference between now and before was that now, he wanted more. He'd realized something the day after their fight. He realized that he could kiss her and she'd probably let him. Hell, he could do a whole lot more then kissing and he's almost certain she'd let him. He'd also realized that if he were to take advantage of that fact, that's all it would be.

He wanted more. To get more, he'd have to fix this. He felt like he started it, so he'd fix it. Whatever they had broken. He'd fix it. He'd make it better then it was. Whatever it was, he'd make it better and then they would go forward from there.

He left her a flower. And a note. He hoped it would be enough. He was laying on his bed reading a book when there was a knock on his door. She came inside. She looked slightly sheepish, with his flower in one hand and the note in the other. She apologized. He smiled at her then shifted slightly on his bed as if to issue an invitation. She crawled next to him. She rested her head on his shoulder, asked about his book. He closed it gently, and turned to face her, their noses almost touching. He told her it wasn't that great, told her that he missed her, told her he meant that it was sorry, told her they needed to talk about _this _whatever it was. She smiled. Told him they would. Later. She wanted to tell him about the stupidest customer at the salon.

They fell asleep together that night. They spent so long talking, that it was about one in the morning before they realized the time, and by then she was too tired to move, but even if she hadn't been, she wouldn't have moved, and he wouldn't have let her. As they fell asleep, both of them seem to realize that this was going to be another _thing_ between them.

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	7. Chapter 7

Justified ain't mine.

Authors note: You may have noticed a substantial, and when I say substantial, I mean complete lack of dialogue in this story. This is for three reasons. One is for stylistic reasons. Rather than following the whole show don't tell scenario, I decided to just tell. Secondly, I didn't feel confident in my abilities in creating words that would believably come out of Ava's mouth, and even less so for Boyd nor do I know enough of the southern vernacular to make it seem non-offensive, cliché or otherwise stupid. And last, but not least…I kind of suck at writing dialogue in general. That being said, Ava has a giant monologue in this chapter. I'd love to know if this dialogue business is something I should consider pursue-ing or leave the story as is.

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Things were normal. Or as normal as they could get. They woke up every morning together, limbs tangled on Boyd's tiny little bed. Sleeping with someone, it changes your perception of them. Boyd, for example, had always imagined that Ava would have been a delicate sleeper. It was very much the opposite. She stole the blankets. Her body splayed out everywhere. More often than not, Boyd would wake up in the middle of the night with half is body off the bed, because somehow in the middle of the night, Ava had managed to nearly shove him off. Once or twice, he actually fell off the bed. She snored sometimes too. Light snores. But snores nonetheless.

Ava learned that Boyd was a light sleeper. It was slightly problematic considering the fact Ava tossed and turned, and every time she did the tossing and turning, Boyd would wake up. She told him once, that if he couldn't fall asleep she'd go to her room, and that it'd be fine, she wouldn't be offended or anything, but he'd told her to shut up, pulled her closer and that was the end of that. She also discovered that he cuddled. Kind of. He slept on this stomach , but his legs were always tangled with hers and one of his arms was always on her. Also he had _terrible_ morning breath.

They never slept a full night without one of them waking up at least once. The bed may have had something to do with it. Ava's bed was bigger, but they both seemed to have come to the slight conclusion that Boyd would not be in the bed that Ava had once shared with her brother. Regardless of the sometimes uncomfortable night, they found they slept better together than apart. Not to mention, it somehow seemed worth the falling of the bed and awkward kinks of the neck and back, to wake up next to each other.

They were happy. Things were good. So who could be surprised at what followed. It had been a Saturday morning, and Ava was making pancakes. Boyd was trying to convince her to make him some chocolate chip ones, but she told him that chocolate had no place in a good old fashioned pancake. So he grabbed a handful and kept trying to sneak them into the batter. And she kept trying to shoo him away. It was one of those cheerful, happy moments where she was happy and he was happy and the sun just seemed to shine that bit brighter for it.

He finally got her to cave. Told her that he would clean out the gutters later today. She begrudgingly accepted, but feigned difficulty in trying to add the chocolate chips to the batter. Boyd smirked and moved behind her and pulled her towards him. He put one hand on her waist and the other under hers, and playfully forced her to drop in the chips one by one.

In was this happy domestic scene that Raylan walked into. He coughed to make them aware of his presence, and Ava jumped away from Boyd so fast that the bowl of pancake mix hit the ground. She looked like a child guilty of stealing candy. She felt guilty. She just wasn't sure what she felt guilty for. At first, it felt something like shame that Raylan had caught her in whatever this was with Boyd, but then she saw Boyd's face, and she felt guilty for jumping away from him. They had _just _gotten over the last fight, and it seemed like another one may be on the way.

Raylan was there to see Boyd. Of course. Boyd told him he wasn't in the habit discussing business sober. So they took off, Boyd without so much as a good bye. Ava felt like crying, or maybe just throwing things around a bit, so she resorted to the next best thing. Her favorite bottle of Jack.

It was dark by the time Boyd got home, and Ava was waiting for him at the table. She was drunk. He could tell right away. He also could tell that she had something to say, so he sat down across from her and waited. She did have something to say. And she intended on getting it out.

"Boyd, I got something to say. And I want you to listen, and not say anything till I'm done". Boyd nodded. He knew she needed to get it out, and he knew he needed to hear it.

She took a deep breath and started.

"The day after I shot Bowman, Raylan showed up at the door and I honestly thought that God maybe sent him down as a reward or something. I mean, I'd had a crush on him since I was about 12, Hell, almost all the girls Harlan did. Him and Bowman. And there he was, on my door. "She grabbed her glass and took a long swig. Her eyes on the table, she continued.

"I'd been drinking all day. I mean at first I thought maybe I shouldn't. I figured maybe cops would be coming around to check up on me or something like that. But I started thinking you know, about Bo and how he'd be coming outta jail soon, and I knew you'd show up sooner or later, probably sooner, and I knew what you'd want, and then I thought about jail you know, and how I'd probably end up there, and the damn blood stain wasn't coming out, and I had been scrubbing and scrubbing and it wouldn't come out then I just went an found Bowman's best whiskey, the shit he'd save for you and his daddy when you'd come to visit, and I just sat down and drank it. And then Raylan showed up, and I thought maybe I was saved. And he did save me. The night you dropped by? The night he shot you? He came for me

And then we got together and I thought maybe my life was going the way it was suppose to. I'd get an apartment in Lexington and I'd be this girl with a man that didn't beat the shit outta her for not doing the dishes the right way, and I'd be outta Harlan and Bo wouldn't be comin near me when I had a US Marshall for a boyfriend. And you'd be in jail, and you weren't getting out anytime soon. " Her eyes met his, and she smiled slightly.

"But then you came outta jail and then he stopped comin around. I think he thought it was our fault that you got out, him and me being together, and it was. He probably thought that any trouble you caused once you got out, it was on us. So he picked you over me. And then he picked Winona over me. And then my knight in shining armor just became a man that I wasn't good enough for.

He kept trying to get me out of Harlan. And I wouldn't leave. I couldn't anymore. I think at first I stayed because, even when we weren't together, if I got in trouble he'd still come to save me. And then, maybe one of those times, we'd get back together. But then I saw him with his ex and I knew he wasn't gonna come back to me. And I didn't want to leave Harlan anymore. Even with you and Bo and Johnny , I wouldn't leave.

And then that night, the night you came to apologize? I didn't believe you. I thought maybe you were pulling some other con. But then you came with Raylan and saved me. And you asked if Johnny was dead, and if your daddy was dead, and you were there and you were shot, and I realized that if you died, I'd have no kin left.

And then you moved it, and we became friends, and I think it may be fair to say you became maybe my best friend, and now we sleep together, and we eat together, and we spend hours talking and we both know it's going somewhere else, and I think maybe I don't mind. Maybe I'm happy about it. Because I'm fairly certain you aren't that same Boyd. But that doesn't change the fact that every time I see Raylan, I remember all that other shit. I remember what I could have had. And I see me the way he sees me, the way I am now, and I'd see you the way he sees you, and I know I shouldn't care, and most the time he isn't around and I don't. But when I see him and that's what happens. Do you understand that Boyd? "

She looked at him imploringly willing him to understand . It wasn't him, but it was. It wasn't her but it also was. The past, it wasn't going to go away so easily. Boyd didn't respond. He didn't react. He did however, walk to the cupboards and grab a glass and pour himself a drink. And then he sat back down and looked at her.

"Boyd. I'm tired. I've been drinking. I'm going to sleep. In my room ." Boyd nodded. Ava stood up rather unsteadily, and left the kitchen.

In her own room, alone for the first time in weeks, Ava tried to sleep, but to little avail. She had gotten used to being in Boyd's little bed with his lumpy mattress. She had gotten used to his body warming her up, gotten used to his arms around her, gotten used to his shitty little blanket that was never enough for the both of them. After a few hours of fitful sleep, she gave up. She grabbed her robe and made her way over to his room.

Boyd had also been unsuccessful in his quest for sleep, so when he heard his door creak open, he breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't dare go into her room, but he was almost certain that had he been awake for another hour, he may have decided to throw caution into the wind and go anyway. He felt her crawl into the bed and instinctively, his arm went around her. And they fell asleep.

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	8. Chapter 8

Justified ain't mine.

Authors note: FYI...I think the story is winding to a close. I only see about 3 to 4 more chapters. One can only stretch angst so much, and besides, the longer it goes, the more it deviates from what actually happens in the show.

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Boyd wasn't sure how to react. There was too much to process. He wasn't sure what to feel. Guilt seemed like a good emotion for a while. Guilt for all the shit he had put her through, guilt for what Bo had done, guilt for what Bowman had done, but also guilt for hurting whatever she had with Raylan. But he also wasn't. Because everything that had happened had led to what they had now. And then he felt worse, for being the type of person that was relieved that he had messed up her one chance to get out of Harlan. He felt kind of happy. She had called him a friend. She had called him her best friend. And she made clear that she knew they would be more, and made clear the idea wasn't something she was dreading. But she'd also let him know she wasn't over Raylan. He poured himself a drink.

Raylan Givens. That man was like a god damn tornado, creating chaos where ever he went. Sometimes he dreamed of a world where Raylan Givens had just stayed in Miami. His life would have been simpler. He'd be doing what he had always been doing, being the king of his own world with no consequences. But then he wouldn't have been what he is to Ava now, and she wouldn't have been to him what she is, but seeing as he wouldn't have known any different maybe he wouldn't have cared.

Other times, he thanked whatever God there was for that night Raylan pulled out that gun. Usually those were the times when Ava was in an especially good mood and she'd make his favorite dinner. It was the times he realized that Ava knew what his favorite dinner even was, the times where he'd wake up in the morning and begin to pull away, and she'd just snuggle in closer and not let him move and they'd sleep in for another half hour. Times when they would have those moments where he was _seconds _from kissing her straight on the mouth and he knew it and she knew it, but she wouldn't move. But mostly it the times she would look at him like he was something. Something that he wanted to be. And then he wondered what sort of idiot he was wishing Raylan never existed, when it was because of him that he had something that he had never even _dreamed _of having. He poured himself another drink.

He was in love with her. There was really no way to avoid that. No other explanation that fit the evidence at hand. _Shit_. The only thought that ran through his head was _shit_. Over and over again, until he downed about another two glasses of scotch. Then he tried to figure out what the hell to do about it. He wasn't sure he was ready for whatever it was, and he was positive she wasn't. But maybe this was progress. She had opened up to him, and yes she'd gone to sleep alone, but at least he knew what she was thinking. And hell, it even kind of made sense. Or maybe he'd just drank too much. But it was progress. He was in love with her. And she liked him enough to consider the possibility of a relationship. Progress.

He stumbled his way to his bedroom even though he knew he was in for a sleepless night. He'd drank too much. And he missed Ava. There was something to be said for sharing a bed with a beautiful woman, even if she did make sleeping a tad uncomfortable. He lay staring at the celling, trying to count sheep, or maybe just the cracks on the wall when he heard his door creek open. He he breathed a sigh of relief. As he felt her slid up next to him, he came to the conclusion that he was going to do everything in his power to make this a permanent sort of thing. Then he wrapped his arm around her, and they promptly fell asleep.

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She woke up that morning with Boyd drawing circles on her arm. She turned to face him, and was a little thrown when she found her face closer to his than she had anticipated. His hand moved to her face, and he brushed the hair out of her face. The moment changed, it became _charged. _They had been fairly successful about avoiding these moments. One of them usually came to their senses, and either moved or changed the subject or did something to distract them from the _want _that was in the air. But Ava didn't want to move today. She had moved last time. It was Boyd's turn to be smart and polite and what not.

Boyd, on the other hand, wasn't thinking straight. He was groggy and sleepy and maybe he was still a little drunk, though it was more likely that the look in Ava's eyes was making him slightly delirious. He _loved_ her. A faint voice in the back of his head was telling him maybe he should move. Telling him that they weren't ready for this yet. Telling him _he_ wasn't ready for this yet. But all Boyd could hear was Ava's breathing, all he could smell was flowery scent that was so very _her_, all he could feel was her skin and all he could see was her lips, _inches, _away.

He wasn't going to move. She could see that. Jesus Christ, they were on a bed. The worst possible place for this to happen. She would have to move. They couldn't be doing this. They needed to talk about last night. She had to make sure he understood. They weren't ready for this. He wasn't going to move. So she would. But she found herself unable to do anything but inch _closer_ to him. Their breathing became labored. Boyd's hand cupped her face and he moved closer. He gave her a second. A second to come to her senses, a second to push him away, a second to avoid the shit they were about to bring into their lives. She didn't move, so Boyd did the logical thing. He closed the few millimeters of space between their lips. He kissed her.

It was safe to say, this was a bad, _bad _idea. The problem with getting something you've wanted for a while, is that control isn't the first thing that is on one's mind. It had started out soft. Nice. Innocent. But Ava shifted, and all of a sudden she was on top of him, and all thoughts of nice and innocent went out the window and her tongue doing things that were driving him crazy and his hands were _everywhere _they weren't allowed to be before and Ava felt like her skin was on fire. They were both fairly sure if they didn't stop in the next minute or so, things were going to get _way _out of hand, but they were also fairly sure that at this very moment they didn't give a damn.

It took about another thirty seconds before her shirt was off and all of a sudden she was pinned underneath him. His lips left her mouth and followed a trail down her neck while her hands tugged and pulled at his shirt. She was _this_ close to getting the offending garment off, when Boyd's lumpy tiny bed decided to make its size known, and they down the tumbled to the ground, Ava landing on top of Boyd.

It shook them out of it. There was a moment of silence, where they tried to figure out what to do next. Going back to what they were doing previously seemed impossible, now that they were actually _aware _of what was happening. They couldn't very well ignore it, what with Ava's shirt missing and the slightly glazed and dopey look in both their eyes. They could have laughed about it, but they weren't drunk and while it may be a private joke between them later, now did not seem like the appropriate time to be laughing. Shit. _Shit. _

Ava got off of him and put her shirt back on. Boyd sat up. _Shit_. She sat on his head, her body still and small. Boyd stayed on the floor, and leaned back against the bed. _Shit_. They were not touching. They were as far apart as they could get in that room. They were so quiet they could hear the other breathing. _Shit_.

They sat in silence for another few minutes, before the tension became so unbearable that Ava left the room. What had just happened? Why hadn't they stopped it? Well, she knew why they hadn't stopped it. But why had they let it happen? Why had _she_ let it happen? Would they have stopped? The way things had been going, probably not. But the thought that was overwhelming all the others, was the fact that there was half, hell more like two-thirds, of her that wished they hadn't. Wished that when they fell off the bed, she would have had the nerve to just keep kissing him. She wanted to believe it was just sexual. The heat of the moment. But heat of the moment encounters, they don't leave lasting impressions. She could still feel his lips on hers. She had resigned herself to the fact she _liked, _though the word didn't seem significant enough for what she felt , him. It wasn't love. She didn't want to think it was love. She couldn't think it was love. Not quite yet. But it was a connection. And emotional one. One that she hadn't had with anyone_, _not even Raylan. Which made everything that much more _intense_.

She sat on the steps of her porch smoking through her pack of cigarettes, so absorbed in her thoughts she didn't notice that he had also made his way over to the porch. He sat next to her, but kept a respectable distance. Never had the phrase "one step forward, two steps back" been so applicable. _Shit_.

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Reviews would be lovely. Thanks again to robinashley for being an awesome reviewer and RedBrunja too!


	9. Chapter 9

Justified ain't mine. But that doesn't make me any less happy that it has been renewed for a third season! Yay!

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Things had been _awkward_. It was like when he had first moved in, they didn't speak except for when necessary, and the rest of the time it was choreographed dance of avoidance. But least when he had first moved in, they hadn't known any better. Now every time they spoke, they were just reminded of how much _better _things used to be. It was like a game of chicken. They kept waiting for the other to make the first move.

That first night, after the incident, he had thought maybe Ava would come to sleep with him anyway. But she hadn't. She had thought about it. Hell she even stood at his door for a good five minutes. But in those five minutes, she saw a future that she wasn't ready for. She saw herself waking up in his arms again, and she knew that it would be different. They'd kiss again. She knew that like she knew the sky was blue. They'd do a whole lot more, and she knew this time around it would take more then falling off the bed to make them stop. They'd probably spend the day in bed, and if she wasn't in love with him now, she would be then. If she went into his bedroom now, she would be hitching her wagon , possibly permanently, to Boyd Crowder.

She thought about what that meant. She thought about how it was now, how she stopped asking him what he was up to, because he would tell her. How once in a while he'd ask her to do something that made no sense, and she would just do it, and try so very hard not to think about why she was doing what she was doing. She thought about how sometimes he came home late, and she'd be worried, wondering if maybe he'd kill someone, maybe he'd got arrested, maybe he'd died.

She thought about what people would say. She thought about what Raylan would say. She thought about getting married, maybe having a kid. She thought about getting arrested for whatever mess Boyd would drag her into. She thought about how it felt to kiss him. About how it felt to wake up every day feeling _safe. _She thought about how ridiculous it was that it was _Boyd Crowder _that making her feel like her mind may implode. She stood at the doorway thinking these things and when it got to be too much, she took the cowards way out. She went back to her own room.

She had thought she made the smart decision, not going into his room that night. But after a week of literally little to no speaking, she wasn't so sure. They were miserable. The first few days, Boyd had come home whenever he could, sometimes he'd try to start conversations, but Ava seemed to be unreceptive, so he gave up. He spent his nights and most of his days like he used to, drinking.

Neither of them had been sleeping well. Boyd usually spent as much time as he could out, until he was sure Ava would be asleep, not knowing that Ava couldn't fall asleep until she heard him stumble into the house. She hadn't realized how dependent she had become on him. They had so gradually, so slow built up their lives around each other, that when everything fell apart, it was then she realized how much he was already embedded in her life.

They had slept together, they had woke up together, they ate together, they shared the mundane aspects of their day. She knew his schedule, regardless of how chaotic it got, she always knew where to reach him, she knew how he liked his coffee, she knew how he liked his scotch, she knew his favorite song, his favorite book, she knew his favorite childhood memory.

She was laying in bed one night when a thought occurred to her. The whole point of avoiding this physical relationship, was to avoid this falling in love with Boyd Crowder business. But what if she was already in love with him? What if she had been falling in love with him all along? With Raylan, the emotional and the physical had gone hand in hand, there wasn't a distinction. And with Bowman, she'd been a kid then, it had been a high school infatuation. But what she had with them, even on the best days, wasn't close to what she had with Boyd on the worst.

Those thoughts that are paralyzed her at his door, the relationship that she didn't want, she had been oblivious to the fact she was already in it. The only thing she had managed to do was cause them both a world of hurt, hurt that seemed irreparable. She loved him. She was in love with him. And instead of being asleep with him on his bed, she was in her room, alone, waiting to hear the door just so she would know he was home.

She loved him. That made things simpler somehow. Clearly over thinking things was not for her. The one time, she thought through something she'd managed to make herself more miserable than she had been in a long time. And hell if it had just been herself that she hurt, she wouldn't have minded so much, but it was clear she'd shattered Boyd as well. She loved him. She was pretty sure he loved her back. So that was that. She'd wait until he came home. Then she'd let him know.

Or maybe she'd wait a little longer. Maybe tomorrow night she'd make his favorite dinner. She could doll herself up too. She'd never really bothered to dress nice around Boyd. And she'd tell him how she felt. And she'd kiss him. And they'd go to his room. And things would go back to normal, but be _better_ because they could do things they didn't allow themselves to do before.

Maybe she'd just go wait in his room. She wasn't falling asleep on her own bed, and she missed his lumpy bed. She missed him. She missed his scent. She'd doll herself up some other time. She hadn't slept in weeks, and the thought of his bed, with or without him, seemed enticing. So she did. And being in his bed, for the first time in what felt like a very long time, she fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

She woke up alone.

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Reviews would be lovely! Thanks to robinashley and road_trip_traveler for being awsome reviewers! I love that you guys like it!


	10. Chapter 10

Justified ain't mine.

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He hadn't come home last night. He wasn't picking up his phone. He _always _picked up his phone. She was in a sheer panic. Was he dead? Or was he just drunk somewhere? Was he in jail? Was he with Raylan? She tried his phone again. And again. She wondered if she should call the police. See if they had him in there. Or she could drive to his favorite bars. It was possible he was passed out drunk in one of them. Or maybe she could call Raylan. Boyd always managed to get Raylan involved in everything. Maybe Raylan would know. She thought about the absurdity of that action. Her, Ava Crowder, calling Raylan Givens, for the whereabouts of Boyd.

She made a plan of action. She'd drive around town first. Then she'd call the cops. And then she'd call Raylan. So she drove around town, and she didn't find him. She stopped by the Harlan County Jail but he wasn't their either. She drove home, fully intending on calling Raylan the second she got in the door, when she noticed that Boyd's truck in the driveway. She sighed in relief. He was alive.

But he was hung over as hell. She could smell the booze off of him the minute she entered the door. He was on the couch with his eyes shut and his face in a grimace. She thought about going off on him. Telling him he had no right to worry her like that, when she realized the situation they were in, she had no right to be worried in the first place. Awkwardness reigned supreme. All of her confidence gained from her nighttime revelations evaporated the second he opened his eyes to acknowledge her presence.

She told him to wait a second and went into the kitchen to grab him some aspirin and water. She brought it back to him and then sat down and waited for an explanation. He looked at her. This woman that had managed to tame him by doing nothing more than accepting him as he was. This woman that was beautiful and kind. This woman that he loved. And looked at her and told her that he had to leave. Told her he loved her, so he couldn't stay. He'd find somewhere else to go, and he'd stay out of her life because Raylan was right. He caused. He loved her, so he wouldn't cause _her_ any trouble, not because of him. He told her he was going to leave because he wasn't strong enough. He couldn't love her and still stay in the house. The unspoken fact that it was because he knew she didn't love him back lingered in the air.

She let him speak. And then she told him she understood and that she wasn't going to stop him. But if he didn't mind, would he at least stay for dinner tonight? He had helped her out and she wanted to thank him properly. She didn't try to stop him. And even though that fact made Boyd feet like someone took a hammer to his chest he told her he wouldn't miss it for the world.

She smiled far too brightly for the occasion and sent him off to his room. Told him to take a nap and that dinner would be ready when he woke up. He responded that it might be better if he started packing but she wouldn't hear of it. Told him she'd help him tomorrow. So he dragged himself up to his room and stumbled into bed. As he fell asleep, he wondered how it was that even after all these weeks, his room still smelled like her.

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Dinner rolled around far too soon and Boyd was confused. Very, very confused. She was dressed up. In a dress that was flaunting all her _assets_. It made his mouth dry, and his body hot. Was she rubbing it his face? The fact he couldn't have her? It seemed like some sort of cruel and unusual torture. And she kept _smiling_ at him. Not the normal smile. But the kind that she used to flash at boys back in high school, the kind that drove them all crazy. But she was flashing it at him. And she kept talking to him, but in a way she never had before. She was glowing. Her eyes were twinkling. And she kept _smiling_. Was she _flirting_ with him?

He insisted on washing the dishes. It was the least he could do. He was hoping she might leave the kitchen, so maybe he could compose himself. At the rate the evening was going, he was either about to fall on his knees and beg for a chance or run out of Harlan and never look back. He needed time to think. But she didn't leave. Instead she sat on the counter, being so very Ava that it took every ounce of self control he possessed to stop from dropping the dishes and kissing her right then and there. But he wouldn't. Not this time.

Ava was about to lose her mind. She was throwing _everything _she had at him. How much more obvious did she need to be? She thought maybe she should literally throw herself at him. So she did. She jumped off the counter, and for a second Boyd panicked. Was she leaving? But what she did next seemed worst. She stood flush behind him, her hands wrapped around his middle and her head resting on his back.

Boyd froze. And then he gave up. He was hers. Utterly and completely. He relaxed into her embrace. Ava smiled when she felt him relax. And then she told him. She told him that she respected his decision to leave if he thought being in love with her and living together was too hard, but that if it made any difference, she loved him back. She told him loved being with him, she trusted him, that the last three weeks had been sheer hell. She told him she slept in his room last night, and just sleeping in his bed made her feel better than she had in weeks. She told him how she wished she had just kept kissing him that day because that's all she can think about.

It took Boyd all of ten seconds to drop his dishes , pull her around and plant his lips firmly on hers. It was like a damn burst open. He loved her. She loved him back. Her hands were in his hair. His hands were trying to unhook the clasp on her dress. Clothes were coming off faster than maybe they should have. And even as every fiber in Ava's being screamed at her to _not _pull away, she did. And then she almost laughed. She'd never thought of Boyd as being adorable, but with his hair sticking up more than usual no thanks to her, his eyes unfocused and hazy and his lips stained with her lipstick, he was a sight to behold. But she didn't laugh. Because she felt him stiffen. And she knew what he was thinking. He thought she was pulling away again. Like last time.

She kissed him again. To let him know they were fine. And she told him that if they were going to be doing _this_, they sure as hell would not be doing it her kitchen. Boyd laughed and began to pull her out of the kitchen but she stood her ground. She told him that if they were going to be doing _this, _she was intending for it to be a long sort of experience. And if that was to be the case, she didn't want to have to come back downstairs to a dirty kitchen. So if he didn't mind finishing up his chores, she'd be much obliged. She did laugh this time at his slack jawed expression.

He didn't let her leave the kitchen. So the dishes took much, _much_ longer than they should have. They kept getting distracted by other more pleasurable activities. They blamed the proximity, and for a few seconds Boyd was genuinely concerned that he would never be able to get anything done, now that he could actually, you know, be with her. But eventually the kitchen was about as clean as it good get with two people preoccupied with other things, and Boyd and Ava ran to what was about to become their favorite place in the house, Boyd's bedroom.

Boyd woke up with a smile on his face and Ava in his arms. He most certainly could get used to this.

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Reviews would be lovely! Thanks to RedBrunja, Road Trip Traveler and vkeithely( i.e the only other Ava/Boyd fic writer on here!) The goal is to have an epilogue up before next weeks episode. But this writing happy stuff is way harder than writing the angsty stuff so it may take a little longer. Also I am HORRENDOUS at sexy time bits, so yeah. Thats why that part kind of totally blows.


	11. Epilogue

Justified ain't mine.

Authors note: So it comes to a close. I'm super excited for next weeks episode where my story will probably be rendered null and void, but that doesn't change the fact I had a blast writing it. The only story I actually finished as well. I stuffed a lot into this epilogue, stuff that probably could have been dragged out for two or three chapters, and I'm not sure I did the issues justice or even depicted them the way the probably could have been, but I wanted to make sure I touched the bases. The ending is left ambiguous for a reason should ever I decided to continue. Anyways...Enjoy!

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She woke up that morning happier than she had been in ages. She turned to face Boyd and gave him an impish grin. He kissed her. A quick kiss. Because he could. Because she would let him. Because that was how he intended on starting every morning for the rest of his life. And then he looked at her. Naked. In his arms. Happy. And he wondered how the hell it was, that leading the life he had, he had managed to procure something so priceless. She smiled at him and asked what he wanted to do today. He rolled on top of her, gave her a kiss that made her tingle to her toes and told her _this _was what he was going to do all day and asked if she had any objections. She told him she couldn't think of anything off the top of her head. And when they fell off the bed this time, they laughed and kept going.

The first few happy weeks they were together were spent chiefly in bed. Not to say there weren't any problems. While it had become easier to look past Boyd's past, it was a bit more difficult when his shirt was off, and his swastika fully on display. He had seen her visibly cringe when she noticed it. And not for the first time, he felt an immense sense of shame at his past.

He told her he knew it made her uncomfortable. He told her it made him uncomfortable as well, but he wasn't going to get rid of it. She had looked startled at that, and even slightly angry. He told her that it was a mark of his past. A reminder of the man he was. A reminder of his shame. Getting rid of it wouldn't erase his past and her choosing to conveniently ignore it would serve either of them well. They had a history. An unpleasant one, but they were the people they were because of that history. His swastika was a part of that history. She told him she understood. But she didn't agree. And she probably would never agree. But she understood.

The honeymoon phase was lovely for the most part. It was as most honeymoon phases were, lots of sex, lots of laughter and lots of happiness. But the reason it is called a phase is that it doesn't last. And it didn't. The day had started out normal. They woke up later than usual, ate breakfast in a rush, and Ava had run out of the house when she remembered that she had forgotten to kiss Boyd goodbye. She had run back to the door when it hit her that today was the day she shot Bowman.

She felt her knees buckle. She felt dizzy. Faint. She felt like maybe she should go throw up somewhere. She saw Boyd walking toward the door and felt worse. He had approached the door with a knowing smirk but one look at her face had wiped it right off. She rushed in past him making a beeline towards the bathroom with a bottle of scotch and locked herself inside. She felt a rush of emotions that she couldn't understand. Today was the day she had killed a man. She had killed her husband. Shot him through the heart as he ate dinner.

She remembered the boy Bowman had been. How he had been so sweet to her when they were kids. How they had sat around dreaming about the lives they would lead the day they got out of Harlan. She remembered how he'd gotten to be so angry. Bitter. How he had started out thinking himself better Boyd and his father, and as the years progressed, become more and more like them, but worse in a way. They knew how to control their rage. They knew how to maintain a façade. Bowman didn't.

She had _killed _him. And now she was sleeping with his brother. She was in_ love_ with his brother. She loved Boyd. More than she had ever loved anyone. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the irony. The 'creepy brother' that had been the root of the last beating was now the brother she didn't think she could live without. The brother that was currently threatening to knock down the door if she didn't open it.

She opened it. And then sat back in the bathtub. He asked her what was wrong. So she told him. Told him that today was the day she shot his brother. Boyd didn't know what to do. So he sat next to her. They had been good about talking through things. But Bowman, they avoided bringing up Bowman like he was the plague. And now, on the anniversary of his death, there they sat in a bathtub with a bottle of scotch between them trying to figure out what the hell to do about the albatross that was Bowman Crowder.

They didn't do much. They sat in that tub and they drank. And when they finished the bottle they went to bed. She had her head on his chest and was trying to fall asleep when she felt tears running down her face. She started to cry. Weep. Uncontrollably. She had never been the type to sob, but she couldn't hold it in. Boyd sat up half startled half terrified. She kept apologizing, though she wasn't sure for what or to whom. She just needed to say sorry.

Boyd was at a loss. He wanted to kill Bowman. Kill him for damaging her so much. He wanted to kill himself, for not getting involved in the first place. And he wanted to punch a hole in the wall because although Bowman had been a despicable human being, but he was his brother. And his brother had once been an enthusiastic, hopeful, happy individual. His brother had once been a good brother. A loyal brother. And he was dead. At the hands of the woman that possessed his heart and soul. The woman that was sobbing in his arms. The woman whom he didn't know how to comfort. So he held her. And he let her cry. And as she fell asleep, she told him she loved him. And all he could think to himself was that life was a cruel son of a bitch.

* * *

They went to the graveyard the next day. They stood at Bowman's grave for a few minutes before Ava told Boyd that she wasn't sorry that Bowman was dead. She told him she wished it had been different, but just because his life hadn't turned out the way he had wanted it to, it didn't give him the right to make hers a living hell. But she wasn't sorry she shot him. She didn't think she would ever be sorry.

He pulled her to him. Told her what he had said the day she found out he shot Bowman. Bowman had it coming. He told her what he told her the night he came to apologize to her all those nights ago. Told her he was sorry he did nothing to stop Bowman. He told her he loved her.

It was a few weeks later when Ava brought it up. She had been thinking, thinking of how big her house was. How she had tried so hard to keep it, and now that she had it, she thought maybe she didn't really want it that much. Hell, most the time they were either in Boyd's room, the porch or the kitchen anyway. Wasn't worth all the money they were putting in it. Mostly though, she thought about how it was _her_ house. She wanted something that was _their_ house. Something that was Boyd and Ava's house. So she asked him what he thought about selling the house. Maybe getting something smaller. Something their own, no memories attached.

It seemed like a big step, though Boyd wasn't sure why. They were already living together. But this was different. It was introducing permanency. It was Ava telling him that she thought her life was with him now. He had never considered permanency in their relationship before. It had been a day to day sort of experience. Every day he woke up, always a little surprised that she was still there, still with him, still loving him. And that was enough to last the day.

But now, this was considering the possibility that he wouldn't have to be surprised anymore. That he could wake up and think to himself that this is where she is supposed to be. This was considering the possibility that there would be room that was _theirs_. Not Boyd's room. Not Ava's room. But _their_ room. _Their_ house. So they decided to go for it. Nothing drastic. They wouldn't be selling today and buying tomorrow. But if they heard something round town about someone selling a house or something, maybe they would look into it.

They fought. The more comfortable they got, the more they fought. Sometimes about trivial things, sometimes about not so trivial things. But they knew each other, and they knew love and they knew not to let it go. Ava had once seen preschool kids out on a field trip, they had been walking past the salon and she had seen them through the window. All the children were lined up in pairs and holding hands and most of them kept letting go, or wandering off or pairing with new friends but there were these two little kids that wouldn't let go. And sometimes one of them would drag the other in one direction, and sometimes the other would pull the other way, but they wouldn't let go. Ava had smiled because for a second she had seen her and Boyd. They had decided to hold hands, and no matter which one of them tugged or pulled, the other would most certainly not be letting go.

* * *

She hadn't been feeling well. Always a bit nauseous. Always a little tired. Always a bit hungry. She thought about going to see the doctor but it seemed so trivial that she didn't bother. She was at the grocery store one day when it hit her. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry or maybe go vomit. It wasn't for sure. Speculation really. After the miscarriage she had been under the assumption that motherhood was a blessing that wasn't for her. But they had been safe, for the most part. And it was probably just the food from a few days ago. Or the flu. It had been going around. She'd pick up a test though. Just to be on the safe side.

He bought a ring. He wasn't sure why. He But he saw it, and he thought of her, thought maybe she would like it so he bought it. He hadn't thought of the implications of buying a ring. And now it was in his pocket. Always in his pocket. Some day's he thought maybe he should just ask her. Other days the whole concept of marriage seemed a little ridiculous for what they had. Besides they were happy now. Happy with how everything was, with each other. He wasn't in the mood to change anything. Yet. Maybe.

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Last chance for me to ask for reviews :) . If you read this story, and liked it even in the _least _bit, I have absolutely no shame in asking for some praise. However, if you still want to hide in the dark, I'd still like to thank you for taking the time to read it. I do want to especially thank all the people that did review it. You guys are AWESOME and very much the reason I kept on writing. Thanks again to Louiseee, road trip traveler, robinashley, southrnbygrace, RedBrunja, vkeithly, noone, asterope, and wenn9366.


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